Shapes and Shards Verse
by WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: Collection of stories about the Deep-Space Nine daemon-verse. Excerpt from chapter one: "This is the problem: When Dr. Mora Pel finds Odo floating in the vacuum of space, alone and thousands of kilometers from any other sentient lifeform, no one even considers the possibility that he is not a daemon."
1. Chapter 1

This is the problem:

When Dr. Mora Pel finds Odo floating in the vacuum of space, alone and thousands of kilometers from any other sentient lifeform, no one even considers the possibility that he is not a daemon.

Well, alright. First the excited scientists consider the possibility that they have found an amorphous mass of concentrated Rusakov Particles (or 'Dust'), which would be a bizarre phenomenon. Nothing, except for daemons, give off Rusakov Particles in such quantities. But then while Dr. Mora is examining the mass with his own daemon, a bronze simian named Lilima, the form shifts, twists, and morphs into an exact copy of her.

When people look at an animal, there is a sense – unexplainable, and, many would claim, unquantifiable – which makes it readily apparent whether or not the creature is 'natural' or a daemon. Scientists on Earth connected this determination with Rusakov radiation sometime in the 18th century, Bajorans much earlier.

So they understand inherently that he is a daemon. His need for regeneration, and his strange ability to mimic inorganic forms, are scrutinized with glee. But he is an aberration, not something altogether new. Because he does not have a traditional name he is _Odo'Ital, _unknown sample, and they wonder what strange, Separated child of a long-lived race is currently wandering the stars without his or her companion.

Not that anyone, aside from Odo, really ponders this last question too long.

* * *

Science will never be the first love of Cardassia, but sometimes there comes a despot who fancies himself a learned man, and a benevolent force for good. Or, at the very least, a decadent one. Science which benefits weapons, engineering and other starship technology is grudgingly tolerated; the other forms are indulgences.

Gul Dukat is an indulgent man.

Nevermind that millions of Bajorans go hungry, that the labor camps are bursting and children are dying in the streets of Bajor's once-proud capital. "An unbound daemon," Dukat exclaims when he hears about Odo. "What fun!" And he dreams of grand scientific discoveries, vague and undefined – he's not a woman, after all – which will bring Bajor, and his name, to the attention of the quadrant. The possibilities are endless; Mora even predicts that with investigation of Odo's situation they might bring about breakthroughs concerning the nature of Separation and Severing. So with his right hand Dukat signs a grant for extravagant research on 'Odo'Ital', and with his left he signs a budget-cut on a labor-camp that specializes in (making) Severed youths.

All good Cardassian leaders are ambidextrous.

* * *

At first Dr. Mora sticks strictly to science, which is in itself grueling work. Plucked from the vast, languid silence of space and forced onto the almost frantic energy of Bajor, Odo is overwhelmed enough simply trying to process the fresh stimuli. The fact that he is the focus of so much unwelcome attention makes an already difficult situation almost unbearable.

They want to test his limits and capabilities, first and foremost, which is about as unpleasant as it sounds. What forms he can successfully imitate; for how long; what mass and volume he can attain; color variations; Dust radiation; how long he can go before his strange need to 'regenerate', as it is termed, asserts itself. This last need is stretched out with a careful application of electric shocks, as though Dr. Mora suspects that Odo is simply being lazy. Odo struggles to hold a physical form as long as he can, but the stability of his matrix shudders and flakes and vibrates madly every sixteen hours. He doesn't understand _pain _until Mora makes him resist the urge to regenerate, but the word gains new meaning after that.

He learns speech quickly, of course, which surprises no one; daemons can always speak. It is unusual for him to talk directly to the Bajorans, but more efficient, and anyway it is not as though he has his own companion to intercede.

No one is bothered much when he asks to be released, when he says the electric shocks hurt. He is a daemon without a partner; of course he is easily upset, and weak, and prone to fits of hysteria. This is expected. It is one of few things about Odo which fits expectations.

The most sympathetic of the scientists is a young assistant named Lira Yern. Though prone to sympathy for Odo, Yern is overly-anxious about her position as Mora's assistant – and a Bajoran in good graces with the stone-faced 'Cardassian' who hovers in the corner of the lab day and night – to ever make a gesture of help.

And, as Dr. Mora says: "Don't get attached, Miss Lira. His person could die at any time, poof, and he'll just disappear. No one lasts long without a daemon."

The general agreement is that 'Severed' children should be sent to the Prophets for their own good. Odo, who is always listening, always learning, knows about the Prophets. The Bajorans seem to love them, and the Cardassians hate them. The Cardassians are the gray-and-green scaled bipeds who enter sometimes, tall and proud, and shout orders at the Bajorans. When they come they typically want work to go faster, which means the Bajorans typically have to make _Odo _do things faster, and that's painful. So Odo's not crazy about the Cardassians.

Yern's daemon Neri, which is a shy species of creature called a porli, is the closest thing to what the Bajoran's call a 'friend'. Odo likes Neri's wings, although Neri isn't very good at using them – he's a rather awkward flier, and apparently in the 'wild', a somewhat vague concept that Neri awkwardly describes as referring to open spaces with lots of free-ranging, non-daemon creatures that _look like _daemons, porli are eaten by Bajorans fairly often. Odo doesn't eat, himself, and doesn't see why Bajorans must eat, so this is an especially horrifying concept.

Odo isn't sure he wants to be anyone's daemon, if it means things like accepting the fact that your Bajoran eats your kind, and being stuck shuffling behind someone else for eternity. Not that being stuck doing experiments forever is _better, _but...

Honestly, there isn't much of anything Odo looks forward to, so much as things he tries to avoid.

One day, though, Dr. Mora clears the lab and takes Odo into a small room alone – just him, Odo and his own daemon, Lilima. He leaves Odo in a forcefield container, leaves briefly, and then returns, wheeling in a young, dark-haired woman.

Odo doesn't recognize her, not that this means much. His poor memory for faces has already been noted by the research team, leading the Bajorans to speculate that his companion is from a species physiologically distant from their own, since most daemons have good facial recognition. But he analyzes this woman's features carefully. Something about the way Dr. Mora curls his hands around her shoulders worries him.

"Odo," Dr. Mora says. "This is Pelen. She's your companion."

Naturally, that makes her much more interesting.

* * *

Forcefields in place around the room, Dr. Mora allows Odo to approach the mysterious, silent woman.

All in all, he's a little suspicious.

Neri always seems positively confused when Odo asks about the daemon-bond. "It's just there," he'll say. And, when Odo asks if he _likes _Yern, "How could I not?"

But Odo doesn't feel that simple, obvious, of-course sensation with this Bajoran. He doesn't feel _anything, _actually. He even slowly, hesitantly reaches out and brushes a paw against her – he's in the form of a hara cat right now – and waits for a response. Dr. Mora tenses like he expects one, too. Odo knows touching is supposed to be a big deal for Bajorans and daemons, for some reason.

But, no. Nothing.

Dr. Mora looks conflicted. "If you weren't bonded, you would feel violated by a touch like that," he assures Odo.

"I don't think we're bonded," he says flatly.

Odo has seen Bajorans fib, cajole and outright lie to Cardassian overseers enough to know when he's being tricked, thank you.

Now the doctor just looks angry. "You're bonded. You don't have anyone else, why does it matter? Don't you want to leave?"

"Not like this. Not with her."

"Are you saying she isn't good enough?"

Odo tilts his cat-head, staring at the man.

" - We're doing research into broken bonds," Mora finally says, haltingly. "This could be very important."

Odo sighs at the obvious lie, but this relative freedom is better than the tiny cube he's typically crammed into at night. He considers the woman, then grudgingly goes to curl up by her side.

She stares sightlessly into the distance.

Dr. Mora begins talking about something – science. Lovely. That'll jog her memories, sure. Odo ignores him.

The girl can do simple tasks, but only on command. When prompted she blankly starts to knit – poorly, automatically – until her fingers are raw and cracked. Her nail catches and starts to bleed; she keeps knitting, knitting, knitting, until the doctor notices and tells her to stop.

This goes on for a few hours. Then Odo is taken out of the room, the girl is wheeled away, and he's sworn to secrecy.

Scientific procedure at its finest, no doubt.

* * *

This pattern repeats for the next few days. First Doctor Mora appears hopeful, then upset, then angry. "You're not even trying," he scolds Odo.

"Of course not," Odo responds. "What's the point?"

Mora fumes. "I'm trying to help you!"

"You're talking physics to a Severed girl," Odo points out, having finally realized the truth of the matter. "You haven't said a word to me outside work in a week."

"You're a daemon! Lilima talks to you!"

Odo just scoffs.

Lilima is a _shadow, _he wants to say. He wants to say other things, too. Like daemons are too quiet, too still, too meek – that there is something wrong and lifeless and _flat _about them. They 'feel' and move and speak and by all accounts act out every semblance of intelligence, these Bajoran companions, but they always ring hollow. Maybe he is just arrogant, or maybe he is just going insane without his own companion, but something about the daemons just seems wrong. He looks at them and sees reflections, mirrors, not life.

And sometimes, when he looks at daemons, it takes all of his willpower not to reach out and strike them violently.

(He has a feeling it would be _especially _unwise to mention that last bit).

So, because Mora doesn't really want honesty, Odo says nothing at all. Only sits there, tail twitching.

Grumbling darkly, Mora takes him away.

* * *

Odo asks Yern about the woman a few days later.

"Pelen?" Yern asks. "That's Dr. Mora's daughter. When did you meet her?"

When Odo explains, it's impossible to miss Yern's unease. Neri twitches and twitters, eyeing their Cardassian overseer and the man's wide-eyed serpent uneasily. "...I see," Yern finally mumbles.

"What?"

"I don't think you should see Mora Pelen any more, Odo," she whispers.

"I wasn't aware that I could _make choices," _Odo mocks. "How nice."

Yern shifts. "I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Odo, I - "

Yern quiets as the Cardassian swaggers near their station, glaring down at Odo's tank. Odo, unfazed, hisses for no other reason than that he can; the Cardassian sneers, but trying to figure out how to punish the lonely daemon is more trouble than it's worth, so he walks on.

"I'll explain later," Yern lies.

"Sure," Odo sighs. He feels tired, suddenly. "Whatever you want."

* * *

Naturally, he sees Pelen again.

Because Odo is a daemon, and because he is an an experiment, and because _what did Yern expect? _So he lets Dr. Mora drag him along, and sits by the mute woman again, but today he has a question.

"Where is her daemon?" He asks Dr. Mora.

The doctor stops. Stutters.

"_You _are her daemon," he says at last.

"If someone loses their daemon, they die," Odo says. "Severed or not. She's not dead. So where's her daemon?"

"Right here," Dr. Mora grinds out.

"Wouldn't it make more sense to bring her own daemon?" Odo asks. He's honestly curious. He's only heard a little about Severing from the scientists – enough to know that it's 'incurable' – but he doesn't see what the doctor is planning to accomplish here.

He _does _know, after all, that you can't transplant a daemon bond.

Mora is angry. He keeps glancing at Pelen, too, as though she might overhear, but the woman is doing her endless knitting. A scarf, apparently, and a long one. It's wide and lumpy and ten feet long, and she folds the needles in, out, in, out, staring straight ahead.

Odo is angry, suddenly.

"You're not a scientist. You're not a doctor. You're not even a _father_. She's gone, and I'm sorry, but _I can't change that._"

Mora lurches to his feet.

In the sudden silence, they both hear the gentle _clack, clack, clack _of Pelen's needles.

* * *

It's somehow not a surprise when Mora's plan is discovered. It's not even a surprise when the Cardassians decide that all of Mora's research was fraudulent – and that, accordingly, Odo isn't worth the interest or security that's been afforded to him.

"You were like a son to me," Mora tells him in the end.

"You wanted a daughter," Odo answers. "But you already have one, and she's all you're going to get."

He's set loose on a devastated world, alone and friendless.

It hurts to feel so grateful.

* * *

Perhaps in another age Odo could have grown to love Bajor; but the Occupation has no sympathy for one suffering soul among millions.

He is spared the indignity of physical needs, at least – food, water or shelter. But it is a harsh, lonely place, and does little to redeem his cynical view of the world. Everywhere he turns holds chaos, disorder, destruction. Worse, _corruption,_like Dr. Mora's own selfish manipulation of Odo's situation.

If there is one thing Odo cannot stomach, it's corruption.

* * *

Ironically, Odo tries to be someone's daemon exactly once.

He's takes to wandering Dalarr province as a hara cat after a run-in with a young zealot who seems personally offended by his existence, convinced that Odo is the ghost of a restless spirit roused by the Cardassian presence. Odo is more of the opinion that hardship has driven the persecuted man to see the Prophets in every shadow, but the result is that he's taken to hiding from both Bajorans _and _Cardassians now. Hiding as a daemon is a good way to go unnoticed, but not perfect; after all, every daemon should be by the side of _someone, _so walking alone either declares that he's – well, himself – or Separated, which in present times indicates a likely spy and is nearly as dangerous. He's just contemplating how to fix this particular dilemma when he spots her.

She's sitting alone, hunched over under the shade of a purple jala tree. She looks scrawny, which is why he firsts notices her; dirty, is his second thought. Too, too still, for a child of only perhaps eight or so, but that is not so strange these days; many people are starving, and those with too little food start to grow sluggish.

He wonders, almost absently, if she's going to die.

It's not a cruel thought; just a practical one. People die often. Still, he thinks it strange that no one even looks at her twice. She's standing right off the main road. This isn't a _particularly _poor area, as they go, and yet no one is stopping to offer her a word. Even a gentle-eyed Vedek, walking by, glances at her and walks on, though with a slight sigh. And the Cardassians don't even snap at her for loitering.

So Odo watches, and watches, and watches, until he realizes, and he thinks, _oh._

Because she has no daemon.

It should have been obvious, especially after his recent misadventure with Mora Pelen. But now he understands that she's Severed, and almost certain to die soon. The Cardassians have a camp nearby where they Sever workers, he's heard, but only adults, and only for crimes – he wonders how this child was affected. Certainly not for any crime of her own. Probably she's the relative of a terrorist, and was used to extract information about a specific cell. After all, if a rebel were Severed themselves they would just be rendered useless. The Severed don't care about anything.

He pads up to her, partly from curiosity, partly from pity. Mora Pelen was one thing. A tragedy, but a distant one, and almost offensive. It was easy to see her as an enemy, undeserved or not, when Mora Pel kept forcing Odo on her. But this girl – so young, and already sentenced to death – this is harder to bear.

He almost wishes -

"Are you alright?"

Startled, he looks up.

A concerned Vedek – the same one from earlier, looking both concerned and a little chagrined – is addressing the blank-gazed girl. She, of course, does not reply.

Then, little nose twitching, the Vedek's hyurin daemon scurries over to Odo. "Is something wrong?" she asks.

They think Odo is the girl's daemon! Naturally – it makes more sense than the actual truth, he thinks bitterly. More palatable, too. He's about to correct the little rodent, then pauses.

He thinks of Mora Pelen, with her pair of knitting needles. In, out. Again and again. Drained and blank and empty, but not dead.

And this little girl, with no one to look after her...

"She's hurt," Odo says. " - She – she's been like this awhile."

"What's her name?"

Odo doesn't pause. "Tera," he says. "Her name's Tera."

* * *

Children are resilient. Odo knows this. Is fairly sure of it, at least. The scientists whispered it to each other, sometimes, when they talked of personal matters outside the overseer's hearing. _Children are resilient. _It's a common motto. Money tight? Military troops lining the streets? A neighboring Gul is harassing your daughter, your rebel son has been shot, your cousin's baby is starving, never fear – _children are resilient. _

Tera doesn't seem so strong.

The temple is a quiet place, and it suits her, but not in a good way. Sometimes strong winds blow through the thin walls, and when it whistles by Odo thinks he can hear it whistling through her bones, ready to blow her apart. She's frail, small, and smaller by the day. He doesn't even care how debasing a form he might take, if he thinks it could possibly cheer her. He shape-shifts fluidly through every Bajoran animal he can imagine, and some that don't exist, and a few secret forms that he shouldn't be able to manage at all. He curls around her at night with the warm and protective embrace of a Krelo bear, as a real daemon world, and stalks her feet by day; but she never wavers, and the bond he never cared to try and muster with Pelen can't be formed with her, either. This time, though, it stings.

* * *

"Is she going to die?" Odo asks.

Vedek Maran gives him a long, measuring look; his daemon chatters suspiciously. Then the Vedek says, "The Prophets always have a plan. It is not my place to know your path."

Emphasis on _your._

Odo stiffens. But the Vedek says nothing else. He continues about his business, and if he harbors any suspicions – and he must – he keeps them to himself.

* * *

By the fourth day, there is no use even trying to rouse Tera from bed. She stops following commands, and simply stares blankly into the distance, sometimes weeping silently, often twitching her hands as though reaching, searching. Odo does not go near her hands – does not feel he has the right.

So he stays by her side, in the faithful form of a hara cat, and waits. He can almost feel the life seeping away from her. There's a waxen, unnatural glow to her skin, a faint mockery of vigor. She looks almost healthy; that's how he knows she's about to die.

And this, too; as the Vedek chants, she turns her head, looking down at Odo. "Are you my Reditiva?" she whispers.

And how he wishes he could honestly say - "_Yes._"

Tera smiles, and reaches out to tuck a hand in his fur.

Then she dies.

(And Odo, of course, does not).

* * *

Seasons change, and years, and other little numbers.

It doesn't mean as much as the memory _Reditiva._

Odo still wonders, sometimes, where the Severed daemons go when their Bajorans are released.

* * *

Still, Odo is left with his earlier problem. Wherever he goes, everyone assumes he's someone's Severed companion, or a spy, and either way he attracts far too much attention, and all unwelcome. He could live in the 'wild' that Neri mentioned, but he has to admit there is a part of him that likes being around others. The thought of being entirely without contact is unbearable. And, though he will not say this to anyone aloud, he would like to one day know where he is from. If he finds his companion and then is dissatisfied... well. No one can force him to stay, right?

But surely he should have the _option._

So. Surely there is something he can do besides stalk disturbed orphans. Perhaps just take a very noticeable form, and let it be known that he has no companion? Bajorans gossip, after all. A Krelo bear, or an extinct animal, or perhaps...

Well. _Bajorans _are animals, aren't they?

Odo can becomes a rock, a tree, part of the walls – it unnerves people so much that he rarely does it, but he _can. _He has never heard of a daemon becoming a person, but perhaps, just perhaps, he is exceptional in that area, too?

He decides to try it and find out.

* * *

A question:

How is it _unnatural, _to do something perfectly within his physical capabilities?

No one seems to have an answer for this. Odo has many questions without answers, it always seems. The Cardassians, for their part, seem amused. "He can take Bajoran shape," they mock. "But not a Cardassian shape." And this is true. He amuses them further by being able to mimic the Cardassian neck-ridges, but more precise details are too difficult – the facial structure, the scales, the leathery hide. It leaves the Bajorans bitter, like Odo has betrayed them.

As though he has ever had a _choice _about his abilities.

Still, whatever resentment the Bajorans might hold for this form, its purpose is won. The Cardassians, out of nothing more than an apparent whim, give him an actual _job –_ salary and all – on the transporter loading bay. A small position, but for a lone daemon, unprecedented.

Something is changing.

* * *

Years pass swiftly. Time is a strange thing. Bajorans, Cardassians, and even their daemons talk about the passage of time as something concrete, solid, immoveable – a linear flow as physical as the movement from point A to point B. But sometimes Odo doesn't feel like that at all. Sometimes – and these years pass as such – times melts easily together, smoothly, and only small patches stick out. Sometimes, like now, brief moments of the past seem to melt into the present.

Dr. Mora, saying, "His person could die at any time, poof, and he'll just disappear."

Little Tera: "Are you my Reditiva?"

"The Prophets always have a plan," the Vedek tells him.

And, now, on the cold transporter bay, with the impatient Cardassian shifting from foot to foot in front of him.

"Well?" the man asks. "Yes or no. I can find someone else."

"Yes, I'll come," says Odo hastily, before the man can change his mind. He hastily moves onto the transporter pad.

And as the shimmering beam takes him to Terok Nor, he begins to plot how he can escape the station – escape Bajor – and finally begin his search.

* * *

If Bajor was a hard place, Terok Nor is brutal. Bajor was, if nothing else, obscenely large; it is easy to turn a blind eye to tragedy when you can escape to another part of the planet. The enclosed environment of a space station creates an entirely new microcosm, and Terok Nor's society is singular and unforgiving.

The Bajorans live – and primarily work – in a fenced-off ghetto. The whole station is run with grim, military efficiency, ever alert to possible insurgency attempts, always quick to quell any hint of Bajoran happiness just in case it proves contagious. It's a desolate place made worse by the whims of the flippant station leader, Gul Dukat – a vaguely familiar name – and Odo has enough to worry about just building his own reputation without worrying about the Bajorans.

Gruff, stern, invulnerable. Never show a weakness. It becomes almost a motto. It's hard enough to be respected in his own right without people starting to pity the lost daemon without a partner. And if he offends people – infuriates them, even – all the better. When people are angry they forget to doubt your intelligence, your sentience. Odo can work with anger, but not dismissal.

He tells himself that, anyway. And even as an unbound daemon, he still has it better than some of the Bajorans.

* * *

When he's not working at the loading docks Odo just wanders the station, learning what he can. Sometimes he does talk to daemons, just because other daemons don't act like he's something strange or bizarre, and also because once he talks to someone's daemon, that person seems much more receptive to him themselves. It's a curious tendency. Odo isn't yet certain if this is because a daemon-daemon interaction is just vital to social interactions, or just because people think it's more 'appropriate', but he shamelessly uses it to his advantage.

Eventually people – mostly Bajorans, but sometimes Cardassians – start bringing him small problems. Odo doesn't mind settling a minor dispute, or helping find a lost item, or mediating an argument. It's not as though he has a plethora of exciting hobbies, after all. It's nice to contribute something, and he starts to get a certain reputation as someone dependable.

And independently sentient. The 'sentient' thing is very important, too.

Then Gul Dukat approaches Odo, talking about an offer and a murder, and things get... interesting.

* * *

"I don't choose sides," Odo tells Kira Nerys when he first meets her. When he says it, he even means it.

"That's why all of you come to me with problems," he tells her. "I'm the outsider. I'm on no one's side. All I'm interested in is justice. If you're innocent, you'll go free. If you're not, I'll turn you over to Cardassian authorities. That's the only choice here."

What does that even mean?

Because it doesn't mean – it _can't _mean – following the law. Not when the law is written by Cardassians, enforced by Cardassians who want nothing more than to stamp down the Bajoran spirit until her people are dispersed and destroyed.

So when Odo catches the thief – a young boy, already on probation due to blatant string-pulling from his family, already a step away from execution – sneaking from the quarters of a visiting Gul...

"If you're stupid enough to get caught on the way to the ghettos, that's on your head," Odo warns the frozen teen. And he steps aside.

And it's at this moment that he realizes it. Odo can't abandon these people – not when he can help them, not when leaving holds almost no hope for himself. Not when this chaos would be his legacy.

Terok Nor – Bajor – is the only home he has.

Bitter, broken, and horrible as it is.

* * *

So Odo stays. He keeps order.

Rarely, subtly, he helps.

Sometimes this just means doing what little he can do to buy time. One of the smallest and most risky things he does is act as a stand-in for newly-Settled bug daemons. Cardassian daemons, for a reason no one fully understands, never settle as bugs. Subsequently, Cardassians consider insect-daemons as a whole to be a sign of an inferior mind, and Bajorans unlucky enough to meet this end are frequently shipped off to labor camps. And in a society where being unseen is a virtue, bug daemons are becoming more and more common.

Other times he hides Bajorans – using his strange, inorganic shifting abilities to form a wall or other shapes to hide out-of-bounds workers from Cardassians. Other times it's as easy as shuffling Bajorans quickly from point A to point B, or trying to quick-talk Gul Dukat into a lesser punishment, usually – disgustingly – through blatant flattery.

The Bajorans thank him, frequently. Odo doesn't like that much.

He could do so, so much more, but...

(Sometimes, sometimes, he suspects he is very selfish; and the worst feeling is to suspect that he helps the Bajorans purely to offset his own guilt).

* * *

His relationship with the Bajoran named Kira Nerys grows in fits and starts. She is clearly still wary of him after the circumstances of their first meeting, but then increasingly curious. Almost, at times, a little affronted. About a week afterward she comes up to him, pokes him blatantly on the chest – imagine that, boldly poking a daemon! - and demands, "I heard about Relan. What happened to not choosing sides?"

Odo isn't sure what she's talking about.

"The kid," she clarifies. "You don't even know his name, do you?"

"I'm here to carry out justice," Odo says. "- Not necessarily Cardassian justice. Or Bajoran, for that matter."

Kira stares at him. Then she starts to look amused. "So you think _you're _the law?"

"Someone should be."

The huge bird-daemon on Kira's shoulder whistles and chirrups. "I don't think the Cardassians are going to go for that," Kira says. "And what gives _you _the right, anyway?"

"What gives _them _the right?"

The smile fades from her lips.

"... -Well," Kira says, "I guess I can't argue with that, can I?"

* * *

The Cardassians are leaving.

It's a time for celebration. For trepidation, certainly, but mostly celebration. Odo can't imagine that anything to come can be worse than what the Cardassians have inflicted on the Bajorans.

The evacuations start rapidly. Now that the retreat is official, the Cardassians are in a hurry to get out of Bajoran space before their soldiers can get left behind, as though concerned that terrorists will pick off any slackers... which, to be fair, is a legitimate issue.

Which means that Odo is soon doing rounds in the free station – _Deep Space Nine – _and, to no one's greater surprise than his own, he has been made an official member of the Bajoran militia. He's even been given the rank of 'Constable', which doesn't, technically, exist. He's not sure if Kira's recommendation was just that strong, or if his status as a daemon makes him special, but he doesn't much care. Odo doesn't like change, so this – this is good.

Sometimes, distantly, he still thinks about leaving. About scrounging up a shuttle and just traveling the stars, searching for a lost soul without a daemon. That lonely person who must, _must _exist. But he wouldn't even know where to begin. The very thought...

Better to stay, in the life he knows, and hope.

For now, he needs to prepare for the arriving Federation. A bitter thing, to give over joint ownership of the station just as the Cardassians are leaving, but it's not Odo's decision. He decides to start with the obvious.

"Quark! Where are you?"

"I didn't do anything!"

Quark's magpie daemon, Yooga, circles his head and cackles in Odo's direction. He scowls at her, crossing the empty bar and scanning it automatically as he walks.

Though imported originally from Earth, magpies are now considered quintessentially Ferengi creatures. A startling number of Ferengi have magpie daemons, just as a startling number of Vulcans have earth felines, which is really the deciding factor. _Humans sure do get around,_ he thinks grumpily.

"What do you want?" Quark demands suspiciously.

Now, Odo has no respect for Quark's sort. None. None at all. But it is also hard to have active _disdain _for him, when the Ferengi sells – no, _sold_ food to Bajoran workers wholesale (on odd numbered days) and let frightened children hide behind the bar when Cardassian soldiers passed through.

So Odo looks at him – and looks, very long, very pointedly, at the protruding bag of contraband spices peaking out of the box by Yooga's perch.

Annoyed, Quark turns to see what he's staring at. And rapidly pales.

"I – Yooga, who put that there?" Quark demands, high-pitched.

Yooga snorts, clacking her bill together. Even _she _isn't buying that one.

"Pity it's so dark in here," says Odo loudly. "I can barely see a thing."

Quark gapes at him.

"Today," he warns.

And _only _today.

But in the future – he'll be watching.

* * *

Odo's first meeting with Commander Sisko - "Who the hell are you?" - is too fleeting for any real impression. His second meeting, later that same day in the man's new office, leaves him more guarded.

"Constable," the Commander greets. "I'm glad we can talk under better circumstances."

Odo grunts in not-quite-agreement. "With all due respect, Commander, I have to agree with Major Kira; I don't think the provisional government was right to request Federation aid at this juncture. But it's not up to me. Still, if you're expecting a warm welcome, you're at the wrong place." He meets the human's eyes squarely for a long moment. Then he looks behind the man.

Sisko's daemon is a great, hulking feline – a born predator. Her fur is ochre-yellow and ringed with black whorls that ripple as she slouches into the room. A massive tail flicks through the air. Her golden eyes assess him coolly, as if to say, _You want to say that _again?

Odo resists the surely-childish urge to turn into an even _bigger _cat.

When he turns back, the human is watching him thoughtfully.

"You're in a unique position, Constable," Sisko observes.

"Is that a threat?"

Sisko seems honestly surprised. "It wasn't intended to be."

"I've spent my whole life surrounded my Cardassians, Commander. Speak plainly or assume I'm going to read into it."

Sisko frowns. " - I'm not sure what I meant," he says at last.

"I'm just as capable as any human security officer."

"I never said you weren't."

"And I'm perfectly capable of looking after the station."

"Of course."

"And - "

"Constable," Sisko interrupts, not unkindly, "If you were incapable, I very much imagine the Bajorans - and especially Major Kira - would have let me know. I have full confidence in your capabilities."

"He doesn't know how to respond to that.

" - Well, good." Odo mutters awkwardly, and leaves.

* * *

"Did you know," The young Federation CMO, Dr. Bashir, tells him eagerly later that day, "That there are some non-carbon based lifeforms that don't have daemons at all? The horta, for example. And there's been great debate on whether or not Commander Data can be considered sentient since he doesn't have one... Though, there's usually some sort of substitute, of course - "

"Has there been any debate on whether daemons themselves are fully sentient?" Odo asks.

"Well of course not," Bashir says, surprised. "I mean, not that I know of."

Even Bashir's otter-daemon seems miffed.

"Right," Odo says. "Doctor, I think I'll have deputy Nefyr go over the rest of this with you later today, if you don't mind."

"Oh, not at all, not at all. Nice meeting you, Constable."

"...Likewise."

* * *

Kira can act as stiff and aggressive as she likes, but Odo knows how she looks when she's excited. Kira's never been the most devout of women, but this whole Emissary business is clearly getting to her, too. The atmosphere of the whole station has lightened. Suddenly the Federation isn't just a stranger; it's a friend who's sent an impossible, unlooked-for gift. A savior.

He waits around the turbolift for Kira at the day's end, and has the decency to curb his curiosity until they're alone. Though, he can't help but cast a few wondering glances in Sisko's direction himself. The man still doesn't seem like anything exceptional.

( - Though Odo is _entirely certain _that Sisko's daemon was a cat just this morning, when did that change - ?)

When they stop by his office, Kira is smiling at him. "I think it might be okay," she says. "Not in the same way, but..."

"A little harder to object to the Emissary's presence, isn't it?"

"It's not just that. Well, okay, mostly that," she admits at Odo's incredulous look. With a little laugh, she adds, "But, Odo, you can't tell me it's not different."

"Of course it's different. This is an alliance, not an occupation."

"And they _care,"_ Kira insists. "You're a Constable now, Odo, and it's not just a nickname or something to make the workers happy. You're not – you're not an experiment."

"I could be. We don't know them yet."

"I know the Prophets. Bajor's finally made herself free. Freedom, real freedom – can you believe it?"

She grins, squeezing his arm. Suratal clicks his beak.

Freedom. No, he can't believe it – doesn't feel it. Freedom for the Bajorans, maybe, is at hand. Which is a good thing. But for himself...

He watches Suratal take off from the major's shoulder, wheeling far overhead to circle around the Promenade.

Freedom for him means something a little different. Odo isn't sure he's found it yet – but he thinks he's at least made a step in the right direction.


	2. Tender Links

Among the memory of the Link there is a word that is both sacred and cursed. _Cresela. _To some, a memory; to others, a lesson.

To all of them, in the shared mind of the great connection, it means _home, _and it means _betrayal._

* * *

There is no memory of the first pair. That is like asking of the first fish to develop lungs, or the first air-breathing creature to crawl across the sand. But as long as the Creselans _were_, the fluid-shifting Companions walked by their sides.

Not always so fluid, though – not then.

* * *

There is not a first, but there are notable stories.

Terden is the most notable early philosopher whose writings survive intact to the Sundering.

Terden's daemon takes the form of a maelektic fox in his latter years. He claims the creatures' wide ears signify that he possesses a corresponding ability to hear the voices of the gods, which is widely believed. He also widely encourages that stringent scientific methods should be applied to all research, which is not. Still, he is well remembered for his theories about the causes of Settling, dual partner death, Separation pain, and early daemon shapeshifting.

Terden is also the first philosopher to write about – to predict – the vague possibility of Severing.

* * *

In the year 870 by the Creselan standard calendar – their last standard calendar, anyway – a fad starts to develop in the eastern hemisphere based on Terden's writings. It becomes fashionable, among aristocrats, to fight daemon against daemon. Teenagers with Unsettled daemons have their partners shift in competitions of creativity, and some bold few – the very bravest – see how far their bonds can stretch.

Some of them stretch these bonds so far the bonds seem to _break._

But there's no permanent damage, of course. You _can't _damage a bond.

* * *

Separation, people start to say, isn't such a bad thing. Oh, sure, your daemon resents you awhile, and people say it's really difficult, but only if you do it the hard way, walking across a desert or some such. And who wants _that?_

As time goes on, it gets easier and easier to Separate. A plane can go up into the atmosphere, and a daemon will be confined as a Creselan sky-dives. A Creselan and his daemon can be put on vehicles facing opposite directions, drugged asleep, only to awaken hours later pulled apart. Easy. Simple.

And after, well, then you have _options, _don't you? It's so much easier, being able to move away from a daemon. Not natural, some say, but...

Well, times change.

* * *

On some planets, Separation never really takes off. Typically it becomes _known, _through one way or another. Some terrible tragedy forces apart forces apart humanoid and daemon, they're reunited, and afterward their bond is affected. On planets like Earth, Separation is the source of myth and legend. It's spoken of in conjunction with magic and sorcery, with witchcraft and ghosts and gods. In certain cultures the Separated were once revered. On Qonos all warriors who reach the status of general are expected to undergone the pain of Separation, as an ultimate test; but Vulcans, for reasons they refuse to discuss with anyone, consider the business dangerous and avoid Separation at all costs. Betazoids outright shun their Separated.

But Cresela is especially unique. Because Separation becomes neither revered nor reviled, which are the two usual statuses. Instead, it is studied, found good, employed, and made _normal._

There is a reason this pattern is not seen more frequently. People from Earth might refer to the natural tendency as _Darwinism._

* * *

By the time Cresela is making it's first tentative in-solar system space explorations, Separation is the norm.

In fact, it's considered strange for someone to _not _be Separated by the time they're an adult. Inconvenient, too, and plain inconsiderate of others, who will have to be careful not to get between you and your daemon. So typically people get Separated now just as a matter of course, if nothing else.

* * *

At one point, people realize that children fully Separated by the age of three sometimes have special daemons. Some one in eight not only permanently retain their shape-shifting skills, but also gain a new plasticity – the ability to transform into inorganic materials. Into non-living, or at least non-animal, material of any size or shape.

In the uproar of this discovery, the implications are not understood until far too late.

And the Separations continue.

* * *

Approximately ten years after the child Separation fad begins, two Separated, 'inorganic' daemons breed and have a child.

By themselves.

A child with no companion.

People notice.

* * *

Confusion. Understandable. Concern. Admirable. Then, almost, it becomes an obsession. Where is the child? Where could it be? There are false reports from all over the world, but the question is a mystery. Some people theorize that the strange new trend of infant Separating means that the child and daemon were born apart, but _where is the child?_

Then, another report.

A child in Itahin city dies of the flu. His Separated daemon lives – happily.

And now – now people start to panic.

* * *

Something, clearly, has to be done. No one is sure _what, _but _something. _Suddenly, everyone questions the 'inorganic' daemons, and the children bonded to them. Are the children sociopaths? Deranged? Are the defective daemons dangerous? There's no way to tell, but 'yes' seems like the obvious, inescapable answer.

So obvious, in fact, that it's taken for granted without any research.

So the next question: how to respond?

Then, from one source, a myth, a legend:

_Severing._

On a global scale.

Except no one tells the globe.

* * *

It takes four years to implement a plan the world doesn't know is coming. There is terror in the streets, and the new daemons, who are at their center unchanged, are bewildered at the resentment they face. They grow defensive. Maybe, if the new daemons could Settle, they would take tiny prey-forms like abused children do, and people would pause. Reconsider their own hatred.

They don't settle. When confronted, they rise. Look larger. Try to intimidate, instead.

It doesn't go over well.

* * *

The Sundering is quick.

Over twenty percent of the planet's population die the first day from sheer shock; more, rendered catatonic, die quickly in the upcoming weeks. They are listless, inert, helpless. Lost Creselans and daemons both wander the surface in a fog, unable to find their partners, unable to _feel _them if found. It is a mercy, really, to die.

Soon, only those few who have been fully Separated – and have 'inorganic' daemons – live. Ironically, these are the ones the Severing was most intended to help. But they, perhaps, suffer the most.

They live – but not happily, and not well. Something is missing. The Creselans have cut off their arms to stem a paper-cut, and now reel from the pain. And they are angry. The streets are gorged and stinking with the dead, their daemons are gone, and world is empty, and for _what?_

But the daemons are just as furious, just as betrayed, and, in a different way, maddened. Perhaps if that old Creselan philosopher were still alive he would say that the key difference between the daemons and the Creselans is freedom. The daemons are dependents made strong – the Creselans are masters made powerless, without subjects, and they are lost. With blood literally flooding the streets, and angry accusations on all sides, well.

War is really inevitable.

And when one side is capable of shape-shifting, is it hard to imagine who wins?

* * *

The no-longer-daemons cannot stay surrounded by the billions of unburied dead. They leave, soaring through space as one unending body, beautiful, tragic. It is the first and last time the Link takes to space, and also the first time there _is _a Link. It is there, on the slow journey for a new home, that the changelings start to heal – but they also speak among themselves, and stew in their fury over the long months of travel. Bitterness grows, and when they land on Kurill Prime the edges of the Link are hard with fear and suspicion.

There, on that small and forested world, they meet the Vorta. The Vorta, small and gentle, prey to a larger race of sentient predators. The Vorta, clever but as-yet without daemons. The Vorta, who show them kindness unlooked-for, and expect nothing.

The Vorta, who, when the predators are dead, look up to _them._

They are Founders to a new world. There are no daemons.

There will never be daemons again.


End file.
